


Sharing a Light

by mydetheturk



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comedy, Gen, OP Reverse Bang 2015, Smoking, Spoilers for the Dressrosa Arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 03:04:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4812551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydetheturk/pseuds/mydetheturk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternative Title: The End of Rocinante's Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Week</p><p>Donquixote Rocinante has been having a terrible week, and really, who can blame him? His brother's the newest Warlord, Law has disappeared again, and people keep bothering him while he's off duty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharing a Light

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I hope you all enjoy this fic. I had an entertaining time while writing it and want you to at least have a giggle while reading.  
> Anyway, this is my post for the OP Reverse Bang event that was going on this summer, and is the companion piece to [this](http://georginoschkavincen.tumblr.com/post/129214311567/my-second-entry-for-the-one-piece-reverse-big-bang) lovely piece of art by georginoschkavincen.  
> Geo, I hope you in particular enjoy this.

Rocinante sat, silently smoking his way through a second pack of cigarettes and a pile of paperwork. Most of it just required signing off, fortunately. Unfortunately, there was a stack a foot thick he didn’t particularly want to touch, especially since he technically was off duty at the moment.

For a base commander, especially ones like Rocinante, being off duty was like death, with the added bonus of actually being able to throw the obnoxious officers out the window like they deserved, in the midst of the never-ending run of paperwork. Rocinante supposed he was lucky that he was, in fact, off duty, despite the situation that lead to him chain-smoking cigarettes and studiously ignoring his paperwork while waiting for a snail call.

A snail call that wasn’t coming and wasn’t coming and seemed increasingly unlikely to come at all.

He leaned back in his chair, long legs stretched out in front of him and hands pressed to his face over his eyes.

Law could handle himself. He was a survivor. He beat out Amber Lead.

And if he couldn’t handle something, that half-feral ex-gladiator and the polar bear could.

Rocinante never could figure out how Law had managed to secure the loyalty of those two, only that he had it and they would defend him to their last breaths. Last, snarly breaths and now Rocinante was imagining all sorts of terrible fates that could befall the three of them – so, so young the last time he saw them all – and he flipped out, arms flailing in every direction as he fell backwards onto the floor.

He sighed, digging through his pockets for his cigarettes. If he was going to be laid out on the floor by his own thoughts, Rocinante was going to continue smoking.

Lighting a match, he placed it to the end of his cigarette, taking a drag. Law would be fine, he concluded. Absolutely fine. Hopefully.

Rocinante wasn’t going to get any paperwork done. It was going to sit on the table until he could conquer his thoughts and work out the details.

Or until Law called him, whichever came first.

Rocinante took a drag, blowing smoke out above his limp form and sighing heavily. He’d right himself in a moment. Pulling another drag, Rocinante shut his eyes and ran his free hand through his hair. It was getting long again. Pretty soon he was going to look even more like… Rocinante bit through his cigarette at the thought, the still burning end not falling on his face, by the fact that he was holding it between his fingers. _That_ one was a monster, Rocinante told himself, pulling the filter for his cigarette out of his mouth and taking another drag on his now much shorter cigarette.

The smoke burned in his throat and lungs, but it was familiar, after years of smoking what he could get in North Blue. Smoke drifted and curled above him, getting caught in the slight breeze from the open window. From outside, Rocinante could hear the sound of training marines, the sound of a trainer yelling and keeping count. He was briefly reminded of his own experiences in that training yard and winced, willing the memories away.

There was a knock at the door.

Rocinante ignored it.

The knock came again, a little more insistent this time.

Again, Rocinante ignored it, taking a drag and blowing the smoke out in an annoyed sigh. He was, for all intents and purposes, supposed to be off duty. There were a half-dozen Base Commanders at Headquarters, and all of them reported directly to Sengoku. At twenty-nine, Rocinante was the youngest of them, though he was by no means naive.

Your own brother trying to kill you - and almost succeeding - tended to do that to a person.

As for the insistent knocking, Rocinante attempted to ignore it. Eventually whoever it was would go away. The cigarette burned his fingers when he let it go down too far, and he scowled, putting it out and fumbling for a new one, pulling a match from a pocket and lighting it on the arm of the chair.

The knocking persisted and was accompanied by someone saying his name. Rocinante sighed, pushing himself to his feet and going to the door. This wasn't his office, wasn't even in the same wing of the sprawling complex as his office, so who would have been looking for him there, Rocinante didn't know. But it sounded like one of the ensigns had been assigned to find him for whatever reason. Opening the door, Rocinante discovered a nervous looking captain holding a sheaf of paperwork in his hands.

"A-Admiral Aokiji a-asked me to give these to you," he stammered nervously.

Rocinante raised an eyebrow, staring down at the captain. The officer shrunk back, and Rocinante had a slight epiphany as to how off-putting seeing an off duty base commander might be. Rocinante knew he looked a sight that day - he was wearing his Corazon makeup and a heart-patterned shirt and he wasn't entirely sure he'd shaved that morning. He knew the kinds of horror stories officers heard about base commanders - he'd been there - and to see one off duty was a rare sight, since they holed themselves up in places to do paperwork and avoid the Admiralty.

Rocinante sighed through his nose, blowing smoke on the poor captain. "Pass them over," he said, holding out a hand. The captain shakily put the papers in Rocinante's hand. "Get lost kid," he said, flapping his other hand in a shooing motion. The captain snapped a salute and fled, leaving Rocinante alone again. Rocinante kicked the door shut, flipping through the papers and catching his foot on the rug. He tripped, landing on his face, the hand with the papers flung forward and hitting the still overturned chair.

Once he pushed himself to his feet, Rocinante dropped the papers on the table and righted the chair, only slipping once. Sitting on the chair, Rocinante lit another cigarette and opened the papers supposedly from Admiral Aokiji.

It actually _was_ from the admiral, Kuzan having left a note inside that simply read, _Kids are hard,_ followed by his name.

Rocinante laughed. "You bastard," he snorted. "You don't even have a kid!"

He kept snickering as he flipped through the papers, noting it was actually a stack of bounties from North Blue. His snickers abruptly stopped as he hit Law's bounty. There was a note attached that read, _Thought you might want to see this._ Rocinante sighed and inspected the bounty sheet. It wasn't all that high, though for a first bounty, Rocinante had to admit that it wasn't bad.

He did want to know how in the hell they managed to steal a submarine. That was impressive.

Rocinante pulled the bounty from the packet and stuck it in his paperwork, where it would be safe.

He was just getting back to his actual paperwork when the door opened and someone strode inside. "Leave," he said, adding his best "I'm a Base Commander and you will follow orders" tone to the words.

"I think not," said the room's newest occupant. Rocinante whipped his head around, recognizing that voice and knowing it didn't belong to any Marine he knew.

"Sir Crocodile," he greeted stiffly, rising from his seat.

Crocodile waved his hand, indicating that Rocinante should continue to sit. "Base Commander," he said, striding to the window and lighting a cigar. Rocinante watched him move, gob smacked and half out of his chair. As the warlord silently smoked his cigar, Rocinante sat down carefully. When he was sure the warlord wasn't going to do anything more menacing than smoke and stare down at the training field, Rocinante went back to his paperwork, though he didn't start it like he planned. The marine simply stacked it out of the way and went back to smoking his way through what appeared to be his third pack that day.

"Those can kill you," Crocodile commented lightly, turning away from the window. Rocinante wasn't completely sure, but the older man appeared to be calmer, somehow.

Rocinante snorted. "No worse than anything else in this place, hypocrite." The match he was trying to light guttered briefly and went out. Scowling, Rocinante tried again, with similar results. The third match wouldn't light and while the fourth lit, it singed his hair when he tried to light his cigarette. Rocinante sighed heavily, setting the matches down beside his paperwork. He took the unlit stress reliever from his mouth and ran his other hand down his face.

"Long day?" Crocodile asked smugly, watching the marine with a smirk gracing his lips.

"Long _week_ ," Rocinante growled, lips curling back.

Crocodile snorted, the sound a quiet huff of amusement. The pirate stepped away from the window and towards Rocinante. Rocinante, for his part, just glowered, angrily watching the warlord approach and lean on the side of the table. Not for the first time, Rocinante wished for his curse of klutz had been inflicted upon someone else, as the warlord didn't even tip the table any.

“Put your cigarette back in your mouth,” Crocodile commanded quietly. Rocinante did, and the warlord leaned over, adjusting his cigar as he did so. He leaned over far enough that the tip of his cigar was touching Rocinante's cigarette. "Breathe," he said, taking a hit off his cigar, the end lighting cherry red. Rocinante took a drag, his cigarette catching and glowing for a brief second before going out. Crocodile's cigar smoked a little, a thin trail of grey. It smelled almost sweet, rather than acrid and pungent. Rocinante sniffed lightly, catching a faint scent of burnt flowers.

Crocodile simply raised an eyebrow, daring Rocinante to say something. Rocinante grinned, flicking ash from his cigarette into the already full tray.

"Something is bothering you, commander," Crocodile commented lightly, settling into the chair across from Rocinante.

"What was your first clue?" Rocinante quipped back.

Crocodile gave him a flat look and gestured to the pile of matches and cigarettes. "Perhaps you should slow down," the pirate said dryly. He sounded amused despite the even tone of his words. “That can’t possibly be good for you.” Rocinante huffed at the warlord’s probably fake concern, leaning back in his chair and smoking.

It was oddly peaceful, Rocinante thought, the two of them just sitting in silence and smoking. Nothing the marine had never done before.

Until Crocodile decided to break the silence.

“Donquixote. Such an unusual name,” the pirate said, taking the cigar from his mouth and tapping ash onto the pile. “An unusually powerful name, wouldn’t you agree?”

Rocinante blanched. Crocodile was likely fishing, but really, Rocinante didn’t look that different from his brother, and it wasn’t like the name _Donquixote_ was all that common.

Except among the World Nobles.

Rocinante’s lip curled up in a facsimile of a sneer, cigarette held in the corner of his mouth. For all that he’d started out life as one of _them_ , he was one no longer, and hadn’t been for years. He was a Marine, a _Base Commander_ , Law liked him despite that, and that was good enough for Rocinante.

But apparently not for the warlord. Crocodile watched in amusement as Rocinante snapped his head forward in realization.

"How could you tell?" he coughed, having inhaled sharply when he moved.

Crocodile blew a perfect smoke ring before he answered. "As I said, Donquixote is uncommon. There is also the matter of how strikingly similar the two of you look, when one knows what to look for." Rocinante frowned. "Like so." Crocodile's smirk was smug and Rocinante wanted to wipe it from his face. "You have a very similar frown." As if to prove Crocodile wrong, Rocinante frowned deeper, but the pirate laughed, amused.

Crocodile shook his head, tapping off ashes. He stood and stated, "Walk with me Commander." Rocinante's frown turned into one of confusion, and his cigarette hung limp between his lips. "I have it under... reasonableauthority that I should not be walking around your Base without... supervision."

By that point, the marine was finally starting to wonder who left the warlord alone in the first place.

Hesitantly, Rocinante stood. He just needed to escort Crocodile to the hall where the rest of the Warlords probably were. That would be simple. Probably. Maybe.

 _Hopefully_ it would be as easy as it sounded.

Frowning, Rocinante restacked his paperwork and picked up the ashtray. He threw the contents out the window, ignoring the cry of anguish, peals of laughter, and someone shouting, "Sucks to be you, Palomo!"

The ash tray clattered back onto the table beside the pile of matches that Rocinante didn’t bother to sweep up and dispose of. Crocodile seemed more than amused by Rocinante’s rather pathetic attempt at cleaning, and tapped his the ash of his cigar into the newly empty tray. Rocinante frowned at being the warlord’s entertainment, and Rocinante just sighed at Crocodile’s snort.

The trip to the other side of the base was going to be interesting, at the very least. The warlord was likely going to be difficult, because Crocodile could and he was a pirate. Pirates were, typically, nothing but _disaster_. Especially the ones employed by the government.

Rocinante pinched the bridge of his nose and said, “Let’s just get this over with,” before opening the door to his makeshift office and striding down the hall. Crocodile hummed and followed close beside, his shoulder brushing Rocinante’s arm periodically as they walked. The makeshift office was in a quiet, unused corner of Marine HQ, where few marines went other than chore boys and marines who wanted to avoid other marines, which had Rocinante wondering why, exactly, the typically dusty and unmanned hallways were suddenly full of marines. Drawing up short, Rocinante stared for a brief second before Crocodile bumped into him, knocking the marine over.

“You are all legs,” the pirate commented, staring down at Rocinante’s prone form. “How do you function?” He kept watching as Rocinante attempted to push himself to his feet only to face plant. “I don’t see how you are a functional marine,” Crocodile said quietly. “This is the, what, the third time you’ve fallen? And that’s just since _I’ve_ seen you.” He sighed. “You are utterly impossible.”

Rocinante successfully stood, dusting himself off and grimacing. “I’ve been having a week,” he stated. He started picking his way through the halls, Crocodile close by his side.

After weaving through halls for a while, in a relatively quiet place, Crocodile hummed shortly, causing Rocinante to glance down at him. “Is there something you wanted?” he asked suspiciously, eying the shorter man. The thought occurred to Rocinante that he actually knew very little about the pirate beyond his name, his title, and the amount his bounty was frozen at. As well as that he was apparently willing to take pity on Rocinante for his poor match lighting skills.

Which was… odd, wasn’t it? Forget having a bit of a week, the last few _years_ were a bit of a mess. Rocinante tipped his head at Crocodile’s furrowed brow and contemplative look. What _was_ he thinking about?

“You’re thinking too hard about something,” Crocodile muttered, shaking his head. He snapped his fingers lightly, removing his cigar with his hook. “Let us go, Commander.” Crocodile strode away, down the hall and turning into the first one that branched off. Rocinante watched Crocodile walk with a confused look on his face - Crocodile couldn’t have known that the best way to get to the large meeting hall was the other direction, could he? Rocinante shook his head, using his long legs to catch up with the warlord fairly quickly. The issue about going the wrong way could be solved easily. A couple of side halls would get them right back on track.

Tapping Crocodile’s shoulder to get his attention, Rocinante took the lead again. He thought he saw the pirate’s mouth quirk briefly into a smirk before it smoothed, but Rocinante couldn’t have been certain. He tried not to focus on the fact that this was the second time he’d let the pirate at his back.

That was… probably not good.

Granted, there were other marines around, and this _was_ Marine HQ, so it wasn't like Rocinante was going to be _completely_ on his own if the warlord tried something.

Rocinante could still feel the warlord’s eyes boring into the back of his neck. It was an odd feeling, but at least Rocinante could tell that Crocodile was still following him. It was almost alarming that Rocinante was vaguely comforted by the fact that Crocodile was following him around, but given the week he’d had, he was going to take what he could get. If that meant he was going to meander through the halls of Marine HQ with a pirate just at his back, then he was going to wander through the halls of Marine HQ with a pirate at his back.

It wasn’t like Rocinante hadn’t done worse than grumpily lead around a pirate and watch trainees scatter in front of him. A few years undercover as a pirate in his brother’s crew would do that, as did the six months trying to find a cure for Law. He didn’t totally regret everything that happened in those four years, just some of it.

Rocinante sighed, making a turn toward the center of the base. It was probably one of the more roundabout ways of getting through HQ, but Rocinante had a feeling that Crocodile didn’t particularly want to deal with the rest of the Warlords at the moment and Rocinante was inclined to stay as far away from his brother as he could get. It was really a win-win situation for the both of them, in Rocinante’s mind.

Right up until Crocodile spoke up.

“We’re going the most convoluted route to the meeting hall, aren’t we?” the warlord asked, prompting Rocinante to glance down at him.

“Is… that a problem?” Rocinante warily asked, wanting to know. If something went horribly wrong because of him not wanting to see Doflamingo any time soon, Rocinante needed to know as soon as possible.

But Crocodile grinned, actually _grinned_ , the motion pulling on the scar that split his face. “You,” he started, “while being a Marine and therefore pathetic and weak, are devious, absolutely devious.” That, even though it was rather hurtful, Rocinante could handle. “Your relationship to a certain...bird is obvious once one knows what to look for, and really, while your reluctance to confront him is weak, that man is a bastard and an annoyance.” Crocodile sniffed disdainfully.

“I take it my brother was being his… usual self?” Rocinante asked lightly.

Crocodile’s expression immediately turned into one of pure loathing. “If his usual self involves being absolutely flamboyantly in one’s face and obnoxious, _then yes_ ,” he growled vehemently.

That was… the usual reaction to Doflamingo’s presence if someone wasn’t immediately cowed by fear of what Rocinante’s brother would do to them if they _didn’t_ immediately cower in fear. Of course, these were also the normal reactions of people who didn’t think the world of Doflamingo for whatever reason.

Rocinante nodded at Crocodile. “That sounds about right. He is rather… flamboyant, yes.”

Crocodile proceeded to stop where he was and look at Rocinante and gesture at all of him. “So what do you call this?”

“My off-duty ‘I’m going to torture all of the trainees on base’ outfit,” Rocinante said blandly.

Crocodile barked in laughter, spooking a chore boy that was warily mopping up the hallway that the marine and the warlord were walking down. "For a marine," he started, "you could be worse." He started stepping away, shaking his head. "Come, Base Commander, I do believe we have a tour to finish."

Rocinante huffed in amusement at that statement, following Crocodile and conceding that this could, in fact, be an impromptu tour of Headquarters.

"If this were actually a tour, Warlord," he began, "then I would have to be telling you horrid things about my colleagues." Rocinante shrugged when Crocodile looked back at him. "I very much don't believe I should be doing that."

Crocodile snorted. "Believe what you will, Base Commander," he said. "I shall still be going to the meeting, whether you lead me across your Headquarters or I have to go through the entire base alone and unaccompanied." Rocinante could hear the smirk in the warlord's voice, even though he was facing away from Rocinante at the time.

That _bastard_. He knew - he _had_ to know - that Rocinante had better things to do with his time than lead him around HQ so that he didn't have to go to the Warlords meeting. But this way, Crocodile was getting out of the meeting and Rocinante was getting a much needed break away from the transponder snail and wasn't wearing a hole into the carpet, despite the pile of paperwork that Rocinante was increasingly tempted to burn.

Rocinante sighed. Today was going _swimmingly_. "You know what, why not? Let's continue on." He threw up his hands and caught up to Crocodile quickly, deciding that everyone could just deal with it today. He could give Crocodile a 'tour'. It's not like it would hurt the pirate any, and it was a great distraction for Rocinante himself.

So he continued to lead Crocodile around the base in the most convoluted fashion to get to the meeting hall. They spoke, mostly about nothing, where Rocinante learned that Crocodile was a good speaker. _Very_ good, in fact. The pirate could weave a tale that curled in on itself the way his cigar smoke did and Rocinante found himself entranced by Crocodile's sense of humor, which was drier than the sands of a Summer Island.

All too soon, Rocinante was stopping in front of the main meeting hall so that Crocodile could finally go back to the Warlords' meeting. Rocinante was faintly disappointed that the pirate had to go back.

"Until we meet again, Base Commander," Crocodile said, entering the meeting hall. Rocinante tipped his head in a nod as the doors slammed shut behind the pirate.

Then the words Crocodile had said dawned on Rocinante.

Again? What had he meant by _again_? That implied there would be a next time, which was absurd. Right?

Rocinante shook his head, but the niggling thought that he'd missed something stuck with him until he'd gotten back to the room where he'd been doing paperwork.

Oh. Oh _hell_. That couldn't be right.

Tripping over his own feet once again, Rocinante managed to catch himself before he ended up face planting into the chair. He carefully sat in the chair, brow furrowing in concentration as he thought and pieced the facts together. A while later he made a decision and picked up the paperwork he was _still_ ignoring and went to his actual office.

Rocinante needed to look something up.

\--

Sengoku's office door was slightly ajar.

That was the Fleet Admiral's first clue that someone was in his office. The second was the vaguely trembling guard outside that looked like he'd seen something horrifying.

If Garp was eating crackers in Sengoku's office again and scaring the guards, he was going to have Garp's _hide_.

He burst into the office, scaring the guard outside even more. "Garp! I _swear_ if you're causing trouble again, I'll-" Sengoku cut himself off because the young man sitting at his desk pouring over what looked like two sets of rules and regulations. "Rocinante? What are you doing?" Sengoku asked, drawing up to the desk.

Rocinante looked up at him, quill in mouth and ink dripping on his shoulder. The Base Commander took the quill pen from his mouth before answering. "I was looking up fraternization regs. Funnily enough, the regulations surrounding pirates can be summed up with 'We don't care, just don't get caught, and for the love of god, don't become friends'." The young man frowned and shrugged. "I needed to check out a copy other than my own so..." He gestured to Sengoku's office. "I was intending on being gone before you got back."

Sengoku nodded. He'd done something similar when he was Rocinante's age, and it wasn't like marines who really wanted information didn't sneak into their commanding officer's offices regularly. Sengoku should know - Garp kept a tally of the ones who succeeded vs the ones who failed. Most failed.

"Why my office?" he asked.

Rocinante seemed almost reluctant to answer, but after Sengoku stared at him for a minute, he said, "I figured you'd have the most up-to-date copy. Mine's a couple of copies out of date."

While that didn't make complete sense, Sengoku didn't particularly want to pry. He'd asked Garp "Why?" plenty of times and every time it seemed to end in disaster. This time probably wasn't going to be any different.

"Right. Well. Out. I'm sure you've had a long day and I need my desk back," Sengoku said, shooing Rocinante from the desk chair. As he stood, Rocinante picked up the two copies of the regulations and tucked them under his arm. He snapped a salute. "Go." Rocinante grinned at him before leaving the room, both rulebooks in hand.

\--

Late that night, Rocinante sat in his actual office, staring down at his paperwork when his transponder snail started making noise at him.

He blinked, then placed his hand on the snail, receiving the call.

“Hello?”

“…Cora-san?”

Rocinante smiled.

“Hey Law.”


End file.
